


At ease, Soldier.

by ObliviateMeQuietly



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26008597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObliviateMeQuietly/pseuds/ObliviateMeQuietly
Summary: “Would you tell me your story?” He asked. He sensed a kindred spirit in her, she realised. And she felt it too. "It’s a long story,” She said. “I’ve got time, as you well know.” He smiled, with his teeth this time, and Hermione didn’t feel afraid. She felt safe. “Only if you promise me your story in return,” She decided. “Well, of course, Ma’am.”Their species are natural enemies, at yet, here they are. Can they help each heal from past trauma and heartbreak?Hermione/Jasper - Friendship to Lovers.A 2 shot/3 shot maybe.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Jasper Hale
Comments: 30
Kudos: 104





	1. Kindred spirit

**Author's Note:**

> This is based in the year 2000, 2 years after the battle of Hogwarts and prior to the Twilight series. 
> 
> Hermione has decided to move on from the Wizarding World to try and escape her trauma. 
> 
> Alice died 2 years ago, and Jasper has decided to have a break from the Cullens to mourn her and move on in his own way because he can't handle their pity.

* * *

The bar was almost empty when he walked through the doors, save for the small group of older men who, based on their state of dress, had come straight from work and had been here for several hours. Their emotions were muted, no doubt due to the bottle of whiskey that sat in front of them on the table, but Jasper could still sense the feeling of lust spike when they glanced at the woman working the bar. He had been a vampire for over a century, and yet, human men had not seemed to change.

Jasper settled himself at the end of the bar, satisfied that he could see the group of businessmen as well as the door, before turning to the barmaid and smiling slightly.

“Your finest whiskey, hold the rocks, please, Ma’am.” He requested, his southern drawl a contrast to the crisp British accent spoken by others in the area.

The barmaid eyed the blonde warily but turned her back to prepare his drink. As she did, Jasper took in the pub, and his mind travelled to the last cryptic message her had retrieved from Peter. It had simply read _London,_ and though Jasper had called multiple times, Peter had not been able to provide Jasper with any more information. It was frustrating, Peter’s gift to just know things. It had caused a wild goose chase across the world, from America to Scotland, and finally down to London. He had been there for 3 days now, waiting for Peter to give him some more information, but he had been unable to help, other than the unhelpful _“I just know you have to be in London.”_

Jasper accepted his drink and went to take as sip but was taken aback when the hairs on his neck suddenly stood on end, and an uneasy feeling took over him. His instincts took over, and he knew another predator was near. The feeling intensified, and his stomach tensed as the door opened.

The air around him seemed to crackle, like static electricity, and the sudden smell of lavender and sage permeated the air. A woman stepped through the door and froze in the doorway as she spotted him sitting at the bar. She was short and thin; her cheeks were drawn and she had dark circles under her eyes. And yet, he was intimidated. Her skin had a slight glow, and he swore, for a moment, he saw her wild hair crackle. She made her way over to the bar slowly, never taking her eyes off him, and ordered a drink.

His body told him to run, but he was intrigued. Her heart raced as she stared at him from across the bar, just like a human, and yet, there was an underlying sound, barely noticeable to even him with his enhanced hearing. It was a humming sound, like a vibration. Curious. And yet, despite her racing heart, his throat did not burn as he let her scent overflow him again. It was smoky and dangerous. It warned him away from her. He realised, then, that he could not feel her emotions, and he frowned slightly.

As she took her glass of wine and retreated to the booth in the corner, giving her the best vantage point to see all of the bar, Jasper finally let his eyes wander from her face, taking in her form. The scar on her neck was red and angry and matched the colour of the letters on her forearm. From afar it could have been mistaken as a tattoo, but Jasper drew his eyes over the letters and knew instantly that it had been carved with a knife. _Mudblood._ The wound was deep and ugly, it looked fresh, and yet, it did not bleed. Another scar peaked out from between her cleavage. This one was healed, but when he stared at it, he felt his stomach clenched. It felt like darkness, and he reminded him of the Southern Wars he had run from so many years ago.

He ran his hand unconsciously over his arm as he returned his eyes to her face, feeling the scars that had healed but would never disappear. Though they were invisible to the human eye, he felt her eyes follow his hand, and her sharp intake of breath indicated that she too, could see them. As they stared at each other and nursed their drinks, Jasper recognised a familiarity in her. Her eyes told a story of mourning and sorrow, and yet, appeared haunted.

Without thinking, Jasper rose from his seat at the bar and approached the booth. He stood in front of her now, and he heard her heart race faster. Recognising his silence was creating further tension, he spoke.

“Would you like some company?”

.

.

.

.

.

The streets were quiet, and yet, Hermione can’t bring herself to walk in the dark without gripping her wand tightly in her coat pocket. Not even Muggle London was safe, in her eyes.

She had thought life would be better, that she could be free, after the war. It had been 2 years, but she could still see the battle of Hogwarts, and Bellatrix Lestrange when she closed her eyes. She would never be free of the memories, the consequences. War had a lasting impact in many ways. Death, disfigurement, and mental trauma that would never heal. She was not alone in that aspect, and yet, she felt more alone than ever.

A drink would help, she decided, and made her way to the pub nearest to her parents’ house – no, her house. Her parents were gone, in Australia, and not even a team of experienced mind healers could reverse the damage she had done to her parent’s brains in order to keep them safe. They remained in Sydney, as Wendell and Monica Wilson, running their new dental practice, and raising their son, Dion, who was now 2 years old. It hurt – so much – but at least they were safe. At least they were happy. At least they didn’t have to see her like this.

As she gripped the door handle, she felt her skin break out in goosebumps, the hair on her neck and arms standing to attention. It was not an unknown feeling – she often felt anxious when she was out alone at night, but her psychologist had told her it was important to do her best to push through these feelings. She stood at the door to the pub, considering her options – a drink would help, she decided. It was a terrible coping mechanism, she knew. But sometimes, she just wanted to forget. Forget the past, forget the war. Forget those that were no longer with her. Forget that she was entirely alone.

Gripping her wand tighter in her pocket, she pushed open the door and stepped into the pub. She froze when she saw him and knew exactly what he was. Pale skin, unnatural eyes, and inhuman beauty. Vampire. The sight of him took her breath away. She knew his kind were designed to attract prey – like her – to draw her in, to ensnare her. But in this moment, her magic, her glorious, glorious magic, took over, before she could step closer. She felt it flow within her, buzzing to the surface of her skin, crackling in her hair, and radiating throughout the room, warning the vampire that she was not to be messed with. She may be the prey, but she wouldn’t go down without a hell of a fight.

The air was cold, crisp, and made her shiver. She felt her blood rushing in her ears and took a steadying breath as she looked into his unnatural, golden eyes. Golden, not red, which confused her, but she stored this in her mind for another time, something to research at a later date. Afraid, but reassured by the feeling of her wand in her hand, she made her way to the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. As she waited for her beverage, she appraised the man in front of her. Tall, blonde, and gorgeous, but his eyes were haunted, hollow, and he stared at her with an intensity that made her stomach churn.

She retreated to the corner of the pub, where she could see most of the pub, as well as the exit. As she sipped on her wine she continued to stare at the vampire. She watched as his fingers drew across his arm, and in the light, she saw faint scars sparkle. They covered his entire arm, and as she drew her eyes across the rest of his body, she saw they were everywhere. Both arms, face, neck, and she imagined they covered much of the rest of his body. She couldn’t help but gasp quietly.

He was a soldier, she realised, as she took in his tight stance and an intense stare. He was not eyeing her as prey but as a potential threat. Though his gaze was harsh, she sensed a familiarity, and she sensed that he too, had experienced the trauma and loss of war.

He approached her, now, and she eyed him warily as he stood in front of her. The tension was thick in the air, and Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, her heart racing, and gripped her wand in her pocket.

“Would you like some company?”

.

.

.

.

.

There was a heavy pause, a moment of consideration, before Hermione nodded her head. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Jasper settled into the booth, sitting opposite to her. They lapsed into silence, for a moment, unsure what to say to each other.

Hermione spoke first, naturally.

“You’re a soldier,” She said, glancing down at the scars that covered his arms. Now that they were close, she could see them clearer. They were purple and reflected the light. It took her a moment to distinguish the shape, her eyes widening in shock when she recognised that they were bite marks.

“So are you,” Jasper replied knowingly, frowning slightly as he regarded her, knowing that she couldn’t have been much older than he was when he was turned. “You have seen too much for your age.”

Hermione smiled weakly and sipped her wine, considering how to answer.

“I was a soldier. I’m not anymore. Not for a few years now.”

“But you never stop thinking like a soldier, once you have seen war.” Jasper said.

Hermione chuckled weakly, slouching in her seat. “Very true.”

They lapsed into silence once again, both mulling over their drinks.

“What is your name?” Hermione asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

“Jasper Whitlock, pleasure to meet you, Ma’am,” Jasper smiled, careful not to show his teeth, and extended her hand to her. “And who might you be?”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione paused for a moment, before reaching out and shaking his hand. “I know what you are, by the way.” She said as she retracted her hand.

Jasper couldn’t help but smirk a little and regarded her for a minute. “I’m afraid that I can’t say the same about you. You’re not human, that much I can tell.”

She should be afraid, she thought, as she thought about how she could answer him. She felt her magic stir inside of her, soothing her nerves. Her hair no longer stood on end, and she felt her blood pressure drop as her heart rate slowed.

“I’m sure you have theories?” She settled with.

“Well, you’re not a wolf,” He thought out loud, his eyes traveling her body for a moment. “You glow, slightly, and your hair…seems alive, almost. It sparked. And your heart…” He listened again, for a moment. “Your heart hums, almost.” He considered for a moment, before asking. “Is it some kind of magic? A druid, or a mage?”

“We prefer the term witch, actually. Or Wizard if I was a man.”

“That’s why you smell like sage,” He commented. “Humans say witches burn sage in rituals.”

Hermione laughed, taking another sip of her wine. “Humans say a lot of things about us creatures. Most of which isn’t even remotely real.”

“Yes,” Jasper agreed, finishing his whiskey. It would give him a buzz, for now, but would burn coming back up later. Human food could be consumed but tasted like dirt and would make them sick. Alcohol, on the other hand, he could taste, but would still make him sick later on.

He too, felt comfortable sitting in the witch’s presence, which surprised him. He didn’t know much about witches, but he surmised that this woman could hurt him if she wanted to. Was he the predator, or the prey, in this situation?

“Would you tell me your story?” He asked.

He sensed a kindred spirit in her, she realised. And she felt it too.

“It’s a long story,” She said

“I’ve got time, as you well know.” He smiled, with his teeth this time, and Hermione didn’t feel afraid. She felt safe.

“Only if you promise me your story in return,” She decided.

“Well of course, Ma’am.”

.

.

.

.

.

“I was born to muggles,” She started, as she stared up at the stars. It was a clear night, cool enough to see her breath, though her warming charm left her feeling comfortable as she lay against the damp grass. It was dark, save for the light of the moon, and her famous bluebell flames tucked away in a jar beside her. There wasn’t really a good place to start, so she started with the basics.

“Muggles?” He asked, leaning against a tree and watching her.

“Muggles means someone non-magical. We witches’ still consider ourselves to be human, but I suppose we are a little different from them.”

“Is it not normal, to be born to a muggle? To be born with magic like yours?”

“There’s usually a small handful of us born in the UK every year, so its perfectly normal. But there have always been a large group of individuals who think us to be unnatural. Dirty. Magic stealers.” She unconsciously rubbed her arm, her fingers grazing the slur carved there.

His eyes followed her fingers. _Mudblood._

“What does it mean?” He didn’t need to elaborate, the question hung thick in the air.

“It means dirty blood. Its an insult, meant to hurt those like me.” She paused, thinking how to continue. “We are called muggleborns, it’s self-explanatory of course. Then there’s the half-bloods, with one muggle parent and one magical, or one magical parent and one muggleborn parent. The purebloods are born to two magical parents. They trace their magical ancestry back generations, with no muggle blood to be found.”

“It means nothing, of course, in the long run. Magic is magic, there are people with strong magic, people with weak magic, and even people with no magic, squibs. They are born to magical parents but have no magic themselves.” She took a deep breath. “These people who hate muggleborns, they started a group, with the aim of eradicating my kind. It started a war. This was years before I was born, of course. Their leader started building his group during World War 2. Once he had enough followers they started a Wizarding War in the 70’s.”

She fell silent, her heart starting to race. Jasper reached out with his gift, sending her a wave of calm.

She jumped as she felt a sensation brush against her mind and glanced over at him suspiciously.

“I have a gift. I can feel people’s emotions and influence them, but for some reason I can’t sense yours. You appear stressed, so I wanted to help. Maybe it doesn’t work on your kind.” He said.

“It’ll be the occlumency. I use it to keep people out of my head.” She sighed and glanced back at the sky.

He waited silently for her to continue.

“Their leader fell, in ’81. Its complicated, but there was a prophecy that Harry, my best friend, would defeat him…”

Her throat was thick, and tears threatened to fall, and this time, when Jasper reached out with a wave of calm, she let it in, and let him calm her.

She told him Harry’s story, from his parent’s death, his Hogwarts letter, Voldemort’s return, to Dumbledore’s death. Jasper felt her hesitation and allowed her to catch her breath.

“What was your part in all of this?” He asked after a few minutes.

“Harry was my best friend. My brother in all but blood. His fight was my fight, and I stood by him through it all. We did our best to support him, Ron and I, but he had a bit of a hero complex. He tried to push us away so he could do it on his own,” She smiled a bit at that, and closed her eyes.

“It took more of a turn when he turned 17. I was 18 by that point, but we couldn’t go back to school. The Death Eater’s had taken over, and Harry was Undesirable Number 1 – basically the most wanted person in Wizarding Britain. I was Undesirable Number 2, his accomplice, and Ron was Undesirable Number 3. If we were caught…well, you can imagine. They were already imprisoning muggleborns with accusations stating we steal magic from purebloods. We found the horcruxes one by one. We starved, we fought with each other, we were injured. It was stressful. The horcruxes, they were dark, they poisoned our souls. Made us volatile with each other.”

She sat up and pulled out a handful of grass, staring down at her hands as she ripped each blade apart.

“Ron left us. He had been hurt, he was holding the horcrux, and he had always been a hot head. I was…”

“You loved him,” Jasper said knowingly.

“Yes. We weren’t together, then, but I was heartbroken. He came back eventually, after Harry and I had been through hell and back. I found it hard to forgive him. But we made up and then we couldn’t get enough of each other.” Hermione chuckled sadly, remembering the feeling of being in love. Being in love during a war was intense, thinking every day would be your last day together, knowing you would stand by each other until your last breath.

“It was short lived. We were captured. It was…” She swallowed thickly, clenching her fists. “I was tortured. For a long time. I’m not sure how I’m still sane. I still feel it when I sleep. I have seizures, sometimes. And…I can’t have children, now.” Her hand ran over her arm. “That’s where I got this. She was insane, deranged. I was not the first and I was not the last that suffered at her hand.”

Jasper clenched his jaw and his fists, trying to suppress his anger. His own torture at the hands of Maria was in the back of his mind, but he shoved it away, and thought about reaching out to touch the girl, but decided against it.

“She deserves to rot in hell,” He said after a moment, his words coming out as more of a growl.

“She’s dead, thankfully. But she still haunts me,”

“I understand,” Jasper said, and Hermione believed him when she glanced up at him. His eyes were haunted, and Hermione saw herself in him.

“There was a final battle, we destroyed the final horcruxes. It was brutal. I lost myself. I killed people, who may have deserved it. But taking human life takes a toll on the soul. I don’t feel like myself anymore. I don’t feel worthy.”

“We lost a lot of good people.” She paused, took a deep breath. “I lost a lot of people.”

Her meaning was clear, and it made his gut clench. He couldn’t help himself then, and he reached out to her.

Hermione felt his cool fingers graze the back of her hand, and it jolted her out of her memories. But she didn’t jump. It was a welcome distraction from her painful thoughts. She glanced up at him, expecting to find pity in his eyes. Instead, she found a soft gaze, full of sympathy. He understood the pain of losing a loved one.

She should have been afraid, but instead she felt safe. She wondered, for a second, if he was still influencing her, whether this was a trap, and yet, she still allowed him to take her hands between his own.

He didn’t say he was sorry, even though he was. He knew, from experience, that sorry did not take the pain away, and pity did nothing except make you feel alone.

“You are strong,” He said instead. “Grief is overwhelming, especially when you are dealing with other trauma. And yet, you are still standing.”

“I do it for them,” She whispered, unable to speak louder for fear of the tears that threatened to fall. “Harry barely got to live his life. He always had to be the hero, but he just wanted a normal life. Instead he chose to fight for people like me, for all of us. And he was taken before his time. Ron…” She let go of his hands to wipe her eyes.

“Ron was Bellatrix’s last victim. He’s hospitalised at the moment, not able to remember anyone, even his family. He’s an empty shell, nothing left of him. Part of me wishes he was dead, because then he would be at peace. Instead he is stuck there, unable to live his life the way he wanted to. There is nothing they can do. He will never get better. ”

Her love for her brother, and her boyfriend shone through in her words.

She had left the Wizarding World to try and live a peaceful life, free from the public eye, and free to live her dreams. Its what they would have wanted for themselves, and for her.

She felt quiet and looked at Jasper, and found his eyes reflected hers.

“You lost someone too,” She stated, analysing his gaze.

“My wife,” He nodded, glancing up at the sky, seeing the horizon begin to lighten. “She was killed a few years ago.”

Alice. The light of his life. His saviour. He wondered whether she had seen this moment coming, and he thought that she would be proud of him at this moment, for helping this young woman to ease her pain and suffering.

“Will you tell me about her?” Hermione asked after a moment, watching him contemplate.

“Another time,” He said, eventually, looking back at the brunette before him. “It’s getting light out. I should be heading off. And you need your sleep.”

He rose from his seat against the tree, holding a hand out to her to help her to her feet. Hermione eyed the hand for a moment before taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to stand.

“I’ll come back, tomorrow night. That is, if you want to see me again.” Hermione stuttered, flushing slightly at how her words sounded. “I just mean…you promised you would tell me your story.”

Jasper smiled to himself and nodded his head at the young woman before him. “I’ll be here, at 12’ o’clock.” He promised.

Hermione smiled and stepped back, pulling her wand out of her pocket. “I better be going. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She disapparated with a crack, startling Jasper, who then shook his head and chuckled. Of course, she could disappear into thin air. Witches. He looked up to the sky, thinking of Alice again. She would like Hermione, he decided, as he set off back to his hotel room. He had forgotten what it was like to have meaningful conversations. To have friends.

.

.

.

Hermione settled into bed, feeling more relaxed than she had in years. The war wasn’t to be spoken of, with the Weasley’s, or any of her surviving friends. It was too fresh, too painful. It eased the pain, to get things off your chest. To lean on friends for support. As she closed her eyes, she thought of Jasper, looking forward to hearing his story.


	2. Under my skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jasper's backstory here is not exactly cannon and is inspired by various other twilight fanfic authors. Enjoy!

Jasper startled as a loud crack sounded, his eyes snapping over to the only building on the lot, a public restroom that was locked at this time of night. The smell of sage and lavender filled the air, and Jasper relaxed as the familiar scent overtook him. A moment later, a short woman with a wild mass of curls rushed around the corner, her cheeks flushed from the crisp air.

“I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up doing my stocktake…” She said, coming to a halt a few paces away from him. “I own a bookstore.”

Jasper tilted his head in greeting, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bottle of wine. It had been too long since he had spent time with humans, he wasn’t sure what the protocol was when meeting a friend. He remembered that his mother had always taught that a gentleman should not arrive to a meeting with a beautiful woman empty handed.

“It’s quite alright, work waits for no-one,” He replied, his strong accent making the corners of her mouth twitch into a slight smile.

“A gift – I wasn’t sure what your preference was, so I picked up what you ordered last night,” he said as he presented the bottle to her, feeling unsure.

“Thank you,” She accepted the bottle cautiously, eyes inspecting the bottle.

His brow furrowed as the young witch proceeded to uncork the bottle and sniff the wine suspiciously. He was even more surprised when the witch drew her wand out of her pocket and uttered a spell under her breath, causing the liquid to illuminate for a moment, the golden hue mirroring the colour of his own eyes.

“Sorry,” She uttered, flushing slightly under his intense gaze. “You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to poison people in the wizarding world.” She took a small swig from the bottle, not caring enough to conjure a glass, and thought of Ron. For a second, she saw him there, lying in the hospital wing, muttering her name in his sleep as she held his hand.

Jasper tilted his head, sensing that there was a personal story behind her words, but let it remain unspoken, knowing she would speak her mind if and when she felt ready. Instead, he said, “The human rumours are false, then. They say witches don’t need a wand to cast spells.”

Hermione scoffed as she sat down, leaning against the tree. “Technically, we don’t need a wand to cast magic. Most of us don’t get wands until we are eleven, and yet, we can still perform magic then. Accidentally, mind you,” She took another swig of wine, before corking the bottle and sitting it beside her. “The wand acts as a focus point for the magic, it makes it easier to cast spells, and its more precise. But if you practice hard enough…” She trailed off, holding out her hand with her palm facing upwards.

Jasper watched curiously as her magic stirred under her skin, producing a light glow under her fingertips. He wondered whether others could see the magic so clearly, or whether it was just his enhanced eyesight that gave him this ability. The jar filled with flickering blue flamed flew out of the bag hanging over her shoulder and landed in her hand.

Jasper raised his eyebrows, impressed with this display of magic, and wondered silently what else she was capable of.

“What else is true?” He asked curiously, glancing around the park for a moment, quickly assessing the area for any threats, before allowing himself to sit down opposite her. “Pointed hats? Flying on broomsticks?”

“Pointed hats, yes, but not like the ones you have seen on television, and we don’t wear them often. And flying is very popular, but I don’t like to fly if I can help it. I’m not very good.”

She looked up at him, noting that his eyes appeared darker today, which surprised her. The golden hues were streaked with black, and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Speaking of myths,” She paused for a moment, trying to find the words. “I thought vampires were supposed to have red eyes. Yours are golden.”

Just as witches had a society hidden from muggles, vampires, too, hid their existence from the world. Though their existence was well known in the wizarding world, very little was known about them, other from their diet, their appearance, and the fact that they were immortal. They were natural enemies, the main reason that their species did not often mix. She should have been prey, she thought as she glanced over his form. But she had the power to destroy him coursing through her veins, and yet, here they sat.

Jasper nodded, his jaw clenching slightly. He was very thirsty, today, and knew he would have to hunt soon. Her scent, smoky and dangerous, did not soothe his throat today, and he felt the desire to feed, but she did not smell enticing to him. “Technically, any blood is enough to sustain our kind. My wife taught me that I could feed from animals. It changes our eye colour and makes us distinct from the rest.” He held his hand out for the wine, and took a large swig, feeling his throat burn as it went down.

“Its not particularly filling, and doesn’t taste that great, but it keeps us alive.”

“What was her name?” She asked quietly.

“Alice,” He smiled slightly as he looked away from Hermione, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He hadn’t spoken her name out loud in months, it was painful for him.

Hermione felt a wave of sorrow pass over her and suspected this was his gift. She was unsure how to proceed, afraid to upset him further.

“What was she like?” She asked quietly.

“She was good, and kind, and would never take no for an answer,” He shook his head softly in amusement and he thought of his Alice, as she stood in that diner, her hands on her hips, telling him how long he had kept her waiting. “She saved me from myself.”

He took a deep breath, and then began to tell his story.

“I was turned by a woman, Maria, when I was 19. It was during the Civil War, and I was the youngest Major in the Texas Cavalry. Maria was creating an army of vampires to take over the Southern territory. But she wasn’t the only War Lord in the Americas, there was a constant battle for land and the rights to prey. I was a talented fighter, and my gift made me useful for training the newborns. But she also gave me the job of destroying them when she thought they had passed their best before date. I could feel everything. Their fear, their pain.”

He took a large gulp of the wine, and then offered it back to Hermione, who took it silently and waited for him to continue.

“My friend, Peter, another talented fighter, had mated to a young newborn called Charlotte. I was supposed to execute her, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I let them escape, and I was punished severely for it. She had been my lover, in the early days, and then I became her most trusted major. She took the betrayal on a personal level.”

He drew his hand to his neck, and pushed the high neckline down slightly, showing a harsh scar separating his neck from his shoulders.

“She tore me apart, and put me back together, too many times to count. She wouldn’t kill me; my gift was too valuable to her.” He scoffed. “She put me back in the field, with threats of course. If I didn’t perform well, she would torture me again.”

Hermione’s eyes were glued to his neck. The scar was uneven, jagged, and darker than the rest. She realised, then, that he had been quite literal when he said he was torn apart. His head had been removed, and she could imagine the scars showing the separation of his other limbs. She took shaky breath and gripped the neck of the wine bottle tightly.

“I feared her above all else, but I grew a reputation for myself. Peter and Charlotte sought me out, a few years later, and told that there were other ways to live. I went with them, but I’d lost my will to live by then. It was torture in itself, feeding from humans. I felt everything that they felt when I took their lives.” He took a deep breath.

“And that’s when I found Alice. She made me feel again. She gave me another way, a will to live, and a family too. She had found others, like her, who did not wish to harm humans. She accepted me, even though I was a monster.”

He shook his head and let out a harsh chuckle. “Most vampires are scared of me. Humans can’t see my scars, but vampires take one look at me and see me for the monster I really am. But Alice never thought like that. She dug deeper, and saw me for who I could become”

“She sounds very special.” Hermione murmured. It would certainly take a very special vampire to turn their back on their baser instincts.

“She was very special to me,” He agreed. “We married soon after that and joined with our family. She fit right in and loved me even when I didn’t. I slipped up, made many mistakes. She always forgave me and helped me get back on track. But she was wanted by others.”

He took a shuddering breath, his hands burrowing into the earth, searching for something he could grip onto – but the earth just crumbled beneath his hands.

“She had a gift, a very rare gift. She could see the future – it was subjective and could be unpredictable at times. But people wanted her for their covens. One particular tracker had been tracking her since she was reborn. She wouldn’t go willingly, and we ran from him. But he loved the chase, and so when we fought him, he became angry. And he killed her.”

Though Jasper was used to feeling others’ emotions, he had always tried to suppress his own. He didn’t speak of that day, and shoved his feelings deep down, in his chest. It sat heavily on his chest today, suffocating him, and his throat tightened. He could not cry, and yet his eyes burned, and he wished desperately that he could shed tears, for he knew it would give him some release.

“We killed him, of course. But it did little to help this...this pain.”

Hermione knew the feeling all too well. She let her mind wander to Bellatrix Lestrange’s last moments, and the death she suffered at Hermione’s hands following her attack on Ron. “You’re just so unbelievably angry, and you think, for a moment, that subjecting them to the same fate as your loved one will help. But it didn’t, for me. It made me angrier, to know that they get the peace of death, rather than the suffering they deserve. That is, if you don’t believe in hell, of course.” She thought of Ron, who deserved peace, but instead was subjected to a lifetime of being hospitalised, not remembering even his own mother.

“Being an Empath is not a gift, it’s a curse.” He spat suddenly. “As well as feeling my own loss, I felt theirs, as well – The Cullen’s’. I felt their sorrow, and their pity towards me. I couldn’t handle it. I had to leave, to get away from their grief, so I could try and handle my own.” He allowed the crumbled earth to fall through his fingers, then clenched his fists tightly. He felt so cold, and empty without Alice, and he felt tempted to take his frustration out on his surroundings. If he couldn’t cry, he needed to do something else to deal with his emotions. He turned away from her, his hair shielding his face as his face crumpled.

Hermione’s heart clenched in sympathy for the man sitting before her, who’s life was filled with such trauma, and his happiness was short lived. The feeling of love lost was familiar to Hermione, though she could only imagine how much more painful it was to lose your wife of so many years. She considered reaching out to him, though his body was tense, and his hands clenched, and she worried his strength would result in her injury.

Instead, she pulled out her wand, and uttered the Patronus charm, her thoughts drifting to her boys, the three of them arm in arm and laughing. Jasper saw a flash of bright light out the corner of his eye, and he felt a warm breeze graze his shoulder. When he turned his head, a transparent, silver animal gazed down at him, wagging its tail. Hermione’s lips twitched as she stared at her Patronus. After the war it had changed form, no longer appearing as an otter, and it made her stomach clench when she saw its form.

It took him a second to recognise it as a large dog, a Mastiff, who proceeded to rub his head against Jasper’s shoulder. He reached a hand out, his hand moving through the warm, silver wisp. He realised, a second later, that the warmth lessened the pain in his chest. It disappeared after a moment, and he raised his eyes to Hermione, who struggled to maintain the spell for a longer period of time at the moment. She gazed back at him, her eyes soft and full of understanding, his full of sorrow, and tears that were not able to fall.

“How long have you been holding that in?” Hermione asked.

“She died 2 years ago.”

“They say time heals all wounds,” Hermione said softly. “They never say how much time it takes, because its different for all of us. 2 years isn’t much time, especially for someone like you, who has lived for so long.” She sighed, before continuing.

“Minerva – my old headmistress – says that one day, the thought of our lost loved ones will make us smile, rather than cry. And that’s how you know love doesn’t die.”

She cautiously reached out and touched the back of his hand, and when he placed his other hand on top of hers, his head fell back against the tree and his eyes fell closed.

“Thank you,” He said quietly, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. The pressure in his chest had eased slightly, and though he didn’t need to, it felt easier to breathe. He was grateful for her, for allowing him to tell his story, and to take some weight off of his shoulders. He had been holding this in for too long, and he knew that now he had let it out, he could start working through his grief.

He knew then that Peter had sent him here for a reason. To find her – a friend, a confidant, someone who understood his pain. They were an odd pair, a witch, and a vampire. But despite their differences, Jasper knew that they could help ease the pain of which they both suffered.

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The sun was rising by the time Jasper ducked into his hotel room and hooked the do-not-disturb sign over the doorknob. He shut the door quietly, moving over to the window to watch the sun rise. It had been Alice’s favourite time of the day, and he smiled as he remembered the way her eyes would light up as the rays would tickle her skin. It hurt less, he noted, as he thought of her, and was grateful for Peter, who had sent him on this wild goose-chase. It had enabled him to share the burden of his past with another, who understood, and this sort of thing was easier to bare when shared with others.

He picked up his Nokia and dialled Peter’s number.

“How’s London?” Peter answered on the first ring.

Jasper shook his head with a small eye roll. Peter never bothered with greetings, preferring to get down to business straight away. He sunk down into the chair next to the window as sun started shining through his window and pulled the curtains, hiding himself from the world.

“Wet,” Jasper replied dryly. “And busy. There are lots of humans out, during the day.”

It had rained yesterday and was cloudy enough that he could explore the city. But it had been hard to stay in control. He had hunted a few hours ago, but it was unsatisfying, as always. At least the chase had been fun in America, when he had come across a bear, or a mountain lion. But here, he was subject to mainly deer, with the occasional fox coming across his path. Both mammals left a foul taste in his mouth after feeding.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” Peter asked.

“Possibly,” Jasper pondered for a moment. Her scent lingered slightly, the smell of sage clung to his clothes, where she had touched his shoulder. “Yes, I think so. I might hang around, for a while.” He was curious about this little witch, who was broken, just like him. He thought that Alice would want to learn more about her world, and so did he. He wondered if she had felt some relief from her grief, because talking to her had seemed to make the world a little brighter for him.

“Thank you, for sending me here. Its been…interesting.”

“Good for you, Major,” Peter said, and sounded sincere. “Check in real soon, alright?”

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They met up regularly after that, talking over coffee, dinner, or late-night drinks – of course, it was Hermione who did most of the eating and drinking – at least once a week. Today, they met at Hermione’s bookstore, and spoke while she sorted through her new inventory of books. Jasper, who had more time on his hand due to the inability to sleep, often found himself yearning to spend more time with her. The two had a common interest in that they were both avid readers. In order to keep his mind busy during the day, Hermione had loaned him her copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ thinking that he may have some interest in learning more about the Wizarding World.

“How is it possible to navigate a building when the stairs move unpredictably?” He asked.

“Well, they tend to move in a particular pattern most of the time. Eventually you learn what routes are best to take at a particular time of day. Occasionally they will play up, and then I suppose it’s a bit of an adventure trying to get around.”

“That sounds difficult,” Jasper murmured thoughtfully, wishing he had the opportunity to visit this sentient castle. With his military background he found any activity that required strategy to be enjoyable.

“And how about the forest? Why is it forbidden?”

“The Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts is full of all kinds of magical creatures, some of which are quite dangerous. Giant spiders, werewolves, unicorns, it’s fascinating, really. A herd of centaurs, for example, live off of the land and can even predict the futures with the stars. They don’t take kindly to trespassing wizards, which makes sense, of course, because Wizards treat them like second class citizens,” Hermione scowled.

“There are plenty of magical creatures who are extremely intelligent, comparable to humans, and yet Wizards refuse to treat them as equals. Werewolves, for example, walk among us, but they are discriminated against very harshly. They find it very hard to get work, are kept out of schools, and barred from shops if people know about their illness. All because once a month they transform and can be dangerous if they are around people. It makes me sick, the way they are treated.”

Her eyes blazed, and for a moment, Jasper thought he saw her hair spark at the ends. It was obvious to him that she was very passionate about this topic, and he admired her for speaking freely about her beliefs.

“I mean, really, Wizards can be just as, if not more dangerous. All it takes is one spell, and you can end a person’s life; one spell to cause immeasurable amounts of pain; and one spell to force someone to do anything you could imagine. And yet, wizards choose to judge people on an illness they can’t control. It’s my life goal to repeal some of these discriminatory laws. I’ve been working on some research with a friend of mine, who holds her family seat on the Wizengamot – our government. Her son-in-law was a werewolf, and she wants to make sure others like him have a better chance in life than he did.”

“How are vampires viewed, in your world?” Jasper asked as he lifted the next box of books up onto the table for Hermione to sort through.

“Well, as always, wizards like to label creatures they don’t understand as dangerous.” Hermione scoffed.

“Some have described vampires as mindless savages, with no control, who think very little of anything other than blood. Some creature activists have attested to vampire’s intelligence, though. I suppose living for hundreds of years does give you a long time to learn new things. Still, I think it would be best for you to avoid wizarding London, because you would no doubt be perceived as a threat. Try and avoid Charring Cross road – there is a pub there that serves as a secret entrance to our shopping district.”

She shook her head and looked up at him from her box of books.

“Plus, I’m not exactly sure if I’m breaking the statute of secrecy here by telling you all of this. Logically, you do have magic of some degree, considering your physical abilities and your gift. So surely it shouldn’t be an issue. But just to be on the safe side…”

“Yes, that may be an issue here on my end as well.” Jasper admitted, running a hand through his hair as he frowned. “We have a group of…royalty, I suppose. Three kings, and a guard, who enforce the laws of no exposure. Humans who find out about us have to be turned or killed. Any vampires who have exposed our kind to outsiders are severely punished – death, usually. Unless you have a gift, then of course they make you serve on their guard as punishment so they can exploit you.”

Jasper watched as Hermione’s shoulders tensed for a moment, before she let out soothing breath went back to shelving her books.

“I wouldn’t worry, Jasper. I can take care of myself, and I hope I’m not too forward in saying that I’d do my best to take care of you as well.”

Jasper’s lips twitched in amusement and lifted the next box of books onto the counter. “In that case, I suppose I could answer the questions I know you’ve got swimming around in your head. You’ve got that look on your face, like you’re trying not to choke on your own words.”

He saw the book coming, of course, but he let it hit him in the face and snickered quietly as she glared at him, her magic glowing as it stirred under her skin.

“Prat,” She muttered.

And so, he showed her what he was capable of – his strength, his speed, and the extent of his abilities. He took her up the mountain, to show her why he couldn’t go in the sunlight. She had responded unexpectedly, by trying to supress her laughter with her hands. _“I thought vampires were supposed to be inconspicuous! You’re practically a disco ball!”_

He had scowled playfully at that and threw a pine-cone at her, only slightly surprised when it bounded back at him off of an invisible shield.

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The whirlpool of emotions struck him as he walked up the front steps, and he gripped the handrail as a wave of sadness threatened to drown him. It was unusual to feel emotions when he was near Hermione, due to her occlumency shield, which he had learned blocked others from performing magic on her mind. The fact that her shields were down worried him, and he quickly strode to the door, knocking loudly on the door.

It had been storming since the early hours of the morning, and he had received a message via owl – a concept he still couldn’t understand - to meet him at a café in muggle London for lunch. Sunday was her day off, and she had hoped to show him some of her favourite hidden spots. He had waited for an hour and a half before realising that had stood him up. First, he felt the strong pang of rejection, which he had tried to brush off. With no other way to contact her, he had walked back to his hotel room, assuming that she had written to him explaining her absence. He wondered whether she had a landline, or even a mobile, like had had – the Nokia was a curious thing, but it made communication with his family easier.

He began to worry when he still hadn’t heard from her 3 hours after that. He had no way to contact her, and so in the heat of the moment he memorised her address from her latest letter and called a taxi.

“Hermione?” He called impatiently, pushing his hair, which was drenched and dripping all over the floor, out of his eyes.

Though he knew that his enhanced hearing invaded the privacy of others, he was grateful in that moment that this ability allowed him to hear her from within the house. To his relief, her heart was beating, she was breathing, and he heard the slow shuffle of feet towards the door.

The first thing he noticed when she opened the door was her red eyes, swollen from crying. She was unkempt, her hair a tangled mess, dressed in pyjamas that looked in desperate need of a wash.

“You missed lunch. I was worried about you.” Rain dripped down his face and wiped it with his hand. He was relieved that she was safe, though his gut clenched when he realised that she had been crying.

“Can I come in?”

“Um, sure, come in.” She said, stepping aside to let him past. She hadn’t been expecting him, and she wrapped her arms around herself to hide the ice-cream stains on the front of Ron’s old Chudley Cannon’s shirt.

His eyes followed her arms as they crossed over her stomach, and he couldn’t suppress his growl when his eyes landed on a pair of identical bruises on her wrists.

“What happened? Who did that to you?” He demanded as he shut the door behind him a little too hard, making Hermione flinch.

“Its nothing,” She tried to dismiss it, swiping her hands across her eyes and turning away from the blonde, walking into the living room. She sunk down onto her sofa, pulling a rug around her shoulders to hide her arms.

He followed her into the room and perched on the armchair across from her.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. I may be a vampire, but I recognise a bad bruise when I see one.” He couldn’t force her to tell him, of course, but he had the sudden urge to hurt the person who had done this to her.

Hermione worried at her lip and pulled at the hem of her shirt. “It was an accident,” she offered weakly.

“I don’t think accidents cause matching bruises,” His eyes blazed angrily, and Hermione turned away from him, staring at her knees.

“Its not his fault…He didn’t mean to…” She trailed off, her lip trembling at the intensity of his voice.

Jasper’s eyes softened, and he stood, shifting to settle next to her on the sofa. Usually when they met, he tried to keep some appropriate distance between them, but in times like these he found himself wanting to comfort her.

“I went to visit Ron. I was reading to him, the playback of the latest Chudley Cannon’s match. He was good before I arrived, but he got really agitated when I started talking about the upcoming game against Appleby Arrows…and when I tried to get him to calm down he grabbed me.” Her eyes welled up with tears, and she turned her face away from Jasper as they spilled down her cheeks.

“It was the first time I had seen him like that. They warned me that he might get agitated, but I didn’t think it would be that bad. He’s never raised a hand to me like that before, not ever, not even before. He was such a hot head, but he was so gentle with me…”

She pressed a hand to her face and tried to suppress the sobs that were building. Jasper noticed, as she did this, that the lights in the room flickered, and he glanced uneasily at the ceiling.

His cool hand slid over her shoulder, trying to offer comfort, and when she turned to lean into his hand, Jasper swore that for a moment, her tears illuminated slightly.

Her sobs did not quieten, and he had the urge to hug her, but did not want to be too forward. Instead, he unleashed his gift, projecting a wave of calm into the room, and rubbed her shoulder until she quietly hiccupped and wiped at her eyes.

“I’m sorry that this happened to you,” He said quietly. “I can’t imagine how you are feeling right now.” He paused, trying to find the right words. “He isn’t himself, now, and going off of what you have told me, he never will be again. But you will always remember the man that he was, and the memories you had together. He can live on, in you.”

His eyes flitted across the wall, landing on the framed photos he had spotted earlier.

“Do you have a photo of him?” He asked gently, wondering that if may help her to visualise him before the accident.

She summoned the photos with wandless magic, the group photo sliding effortlessly into her hand while the others landed softly on the table.

“We called ourselves Dumbledore’s Army,” She said, cracking a smile as she gazed over the photo. “We formed a group so that Harry could teach us defensive magic. The teacher for Defence against the Dark Arts changed every year, and this particular year she refused to let us practice. So, we did it in secret. Harry was brilliant, of course, so I nominated him to be the leader.”

Her finger traced lightly over the bespectacled boy in the photo, watching as pushed his glasses up his nose and then grinned at the camera.

Jasper picked Hermione out in the photo instantly, her wild hair catching his attention. He couldn’t help but laugh as the girl in the photograph elbowed the boy beside her, reminding him to look at the camera.

Hermione’s finger slid over the photo, coming to a stop over Ron. The gangly, ginger boy appeared distracted, but turned his eyes to the camera and grinned when the young Hermione elbowed him.

“That’s Ron.” She smiled as she looked down at him. “I remember this day. We were duelling, and he told me he would go easy on me. I surprised him when I attacked first, and I won the duel. He called me brilliant but scary, you know.” She laughed, looking up at Jasper and catching his golden gaze.

“We fought like cats and dogs when we were kids, but he was a good friend. Very loyal. And he defended me, in school, and when we were on the run.” She looked back down at his face and smiled, fondly remembering the gangly, hot-headed man who had stolen her heart.

She pointed at the other members of the group that she was close to.

“That’s Ginny, Ron’s sister. Luna, a close friend. Fred and George, Ron’s brothers. Neville, he was a Gryffindor in our year as well,” She put the photo on the table and glanced back up at Jasper. “Fred died during the final battle. The Weasley’s lost two of their boys. It’s been very hard for them.”

Jasper’s eyes travelled to the other photo on the table in front of him. The woman was sitting on a stool, smiling at the camera, while the gentleman stood with his arm around her shoulders, both exuding happiness.

“Your parents,” He guessed when he saw Hermione staring down at the photo sadly. “When did they pass?”

Hermione leaned back against the sofa, pulling her legs up to her chin. “Do you remember when I told you that during this war, they wanted to kill people like me? And that I was wanted for aiding Harry?”

Jasper nodded, angling his body so he was facing her.

“Well, I knew that they would come looking for Mum and Dad, to try and find me. I wanted to keep them safe, so I…I altered their memories, and sent them away.”

“What do you mean?”

Hermione took a deep breath. “Well, I used magic to make them forget I ever existed. I removed all the evidence of my existence, and changed their names, and made them want to move to Australia. I thought that if I survived, I could remove the spell. But I was wrong. Nobody can fix it,”

Jasper watched her as she closed her eyes and hugged her legs to her chest tightly.

“I check up on them, of course. To make sure they’re okay. They have a son, now. He’s two.”

Jasper was stunned into silence. In all of his 156 years he had never heard a story like this.

“They are safe, because of you.” He began, unsure what to say, his hand coming to rest on her back. “You did what you felt was right to keep them alive. It must be hard for you to see them, but not be able to be with them.”

“It is.” Hermione nodded, leaning back into his hand. “Some days are easier than others,”

“They would be proud of you,” He said. He didn’t know them, these humans, but he himself was proud of Hermione in all that she was managing to deal with.

“If they could see what I can see right now, they would be so proud of you.”

Hermione smiled and reached for his hand, letting the coolness of his marble skin calm her. “I think they would have liked you. You have been a very good friend to me, Jasper.”


End file.
